A spring morning in Paris

"I DAWDLED OVER MY WORK IN PARIS. It was very agreeable in the springtime, with chesnuts in the Champs-Elysees in bloom and the light in the streets so gay. There was pleasure in the air, a light transitory pleasure, sensual without grossness, that made your step more springy and your intelligence more alert. I was happy in the various company of my friends, and, my heart filled with amiable memories of the past, I regained in spirit at least something of the glow of youth. I thought I should be a fool to allow work to interfere with a delight in the passing moment that I might never enjoy again so fully."

The Razor's Edge
W. Somerset Maugham

Orly airport, France, 12 May, 06.30

Much of my arrival is a blur. Since I just had carry-on baggage I was able to debark and promptly lost. Fortunately, the French are obviously used to this sort of shock in visitors to La France and there really was only one way to go - to Duoane (Customs).
I was very happy to note that the EC is truly functional these days. I showed my British passport and sailed through without as much as a by-your-leave. I do regret a bit the old days where I would have collected an entrance stamp and had to have had an visa, but not that much when I remembered how long I've stood in line in other countries. It just means that a scan of the interior of my passport will show a lot of blank pages..
I'm terribly confused again the moment I pass Customs. I'm truly on my own here. It's very early in the morning and in spite of the long plane flight and the opportunity for rest I feel like I've pulled an all-nighter.
I suffer a huge anxiety attack as I enter the main concourse. The first of my short life.. my schoolboy French has completely deserted me and I'll be damned if I resort to English. Hardly a propitious start to my vacation..
I have no vocabulary any longer and I cannot find the words I need to buy a phone card (necessary to use most public phones in France) or to buy a metro ticket. I find myself crouched in an opportune corner and there I dig out a copy of the Rough Guide. It, at least, has a few useful phrases hidden in the back - more than I can say for my tiny pocket dictionary.
After reading for a while, I learn that train and bus tickets can be purchased at the tobacconists (as is the case everywhere in Europe) and that I must purchase the phone card at the post office.
Not long after, I'm at the phones, trying to reach Esprit de Paris, the outfit that has sold me a couple of nights in a furnished apartment in the 5th arrondisement. I had seen a reference to their services in "Cheap Sleeps in Paris" (not as one of the cheap sleeps, let it be said) and thought it ideal. After all, I was going to be spending most of my trip in hotels. Why not spend a little time living like a Parisian, seeing the city from their point of view, and being limited to the same sort of lifestyle as a normal citydweller.
Well.. it seemed like a good idea at the time.

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